


A Change of Heart

by Exophile_3D (bearbane)



Series: WoW One-Shots [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Breeding, Deepthroating, Exophilia, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Hot Sex, Large Cock, Light Dom/sub, Monster Boyfriend, Multiple Orgasms, Penis In Vagina Sex, Penis Size, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Restraints, Romance, Rope Bondage, Shameless Smut, Size Kink, Smut, Stomach Bulge, excessive cum, huge cock, orc boyfriend, orc lover, orc smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:27:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25645798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearbane/pseuds/Exophile_3D
Summary: Ehmahgerd. I can't believe I wrote this. Don't judge me.Loosely set in WoW.  Male orc / female reader, all the smut.Sorry.
Relationships: Male ORc - Relationship, female reader - Relationship
Series: WoW One-Shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859218
Comments: 9
Kudos: 102





	A Change of Heart

**Author's Note:**

> All the angst and fluff and lovey dovey stuff I’m writing elsewhere at the moment was driving me a bit nuts. I feel better for this. I have plans to do a number of these, with Tauren, Worgen and maybe some others all as little one-shots.

Not since the days you spent chained in slavery in the fighting pit in the Grizzly Hills have you felt so powerless. The ropes pull at your wrists and ankles, keeping every muscle in your limbs and torso under moderate strain. It feels for all the world like invisible forces are keeping a constant pressure on them, so taut are the bonds. Night breezes whisper against your skin, the part-exposure of your body giving rise to a shameful need. Where the cool material of your robe lies against your flesh, you feel suffocated, yearning to be freed. The ties at your ankles are of particular concern. You have pulled and twisted against their restrictive force, to no avail, and your failure only seems to exacerbate the tingling between your legs.

Somewhere close by, a door closes, and your ears twitch to the sound of something heavy, something solid, moving with a confidence across the shuttered room towards you. With a thick cloth secured across your eyes, there is no way to identify the intruder. You try to breathe as quietly as possible, as though the other might not find you if you are silent enough. It’s foolishness of course. He is the very reason you’re here. The room falls silent. You breathe lightly, and your ears are alert for the slightest sound that will betray his next move. The footsteps resume, thudding against bare boards and soft carpets in alternating pitches. He is walking around the bed. Although you cannot see, you know his eyes are on you. He can see your bare limbs extended under tension, he can see the way your robe has rucked up around your waist, the exaggerated but controlled rise and fall of your chest as your mind tries to suppress the impotent fight or flight impulse your predicament has aroused.

The sound stops at the foot of the bed and you raise your head. You know there’s nothing to be seen but the inside of your own eyelids, but our instincts don’t always submit to logic. The bed bows from the crushing weight of the unseen creature and your legs and hips are lowered by the movement of the soft mattress. Your thighs tense in a final, supreme effort to bring them together, ankles burning where the loops of cord encircle your joints, again to no avail. The minions who secured you did their job well. The weight on the bed shuffles forwards, bringing hot skin, soft fur and cold metal into contact with your legs and you jolt from the mixed sensations. Your involuntary gasp brings an answering sound, a low laugh conveying a mix of amusement and the promise of darker things to come. You jolt as a hot hand, three times the size of your own, presses against your thigh. The thumb extends in a straight line up towards the delta of your legs, and the fingers curl to grasp you from hip to knee. Spreadeagled as you are, your sex feels utterly vulnerable, yet somehow that knowledge makes you wet. He could touch you, hurt you, please you, fuck you, right now and there is not a thing you could do to stop him.

Your heart starts to pound. Your nerves are raw with anticipation of his next move. The bed moves again as though a giant is pinching the soft pallet in half from below, and the weight moves further away from you. The intruder’s other hand matches the position of the first on your other thigh and both squeeze your flesh, kneading and rubbing at the tender skin with rough palms. There is sudden heat at your groin as he breathes against your mound, a slow inhale and exhale from a hair’s breadth away that lights up your nerves and you feel the first true trickle of arousal run between your lips. He speaks then. A low, vulgar sound laced with hard consonants and harsh sibilants. The language is alien to you, but the words sound lewd, and his voice becomes hoarse and his breathing harsh as he speaks. You imagine he is telling you, in great detail and with great relish, exactly what he is going to do to you.

Abruptly, the hands are gone from your legs, and the cold rushes in, unwelcome. You barely have time to register this before the silence is rent by the sound of tearing cloth, and your taut body is put under yet more pressure as the creature yanks the wrecked garment from your skin, baring you to the night air. The thin fabric between your legs follows suit and your trepidation reaches new heights, held open and naked now to the intruder’s eyes. Shame, fear and desire vie with one another for supremacy, with curiosity edging its way in as the bed springs back to its original form and the creature steps off. New sounds now. Metal sliding on metal, sturdy armour hitting the floor, a single, wet sound that you don’t immediately identify. It is made clear in the next instant as something hard and fleshy and a little damp slides against your mouth then is tapped lightly, teasingly against your cheek. 

Your first thought is that it can’t be what it appears. Surely not. Its size is closer to that of an arm than a cock. You swallow and again try to quiet your breathing, as though you can hide from this thing with silence. The intruder rubs his member over your face, letting you appreciate its dimensions and the tributaries of veins that pulse along its length. Then the bed groans again as the creature mounts it - and your head - pressing his knees either side of your ears and causing the top of the mattress to drop alarmingly. Your breath reaches fever pitch. There’s no mistaking what’s coming. You can’t see what he’s about to feed you, but you’ve felt the length and girth and you are truly, honestly scared. The hot, smooth tip presses against your lips, sticky with precum, and he slides it sideways against your mouth, spreading the liquid across your chin and cheek. You turn your face, as though that might stop what is coming. The head butts your mouth again and again slides against your lips. 

He curses in his guttural tongue and bounces his dick off your cheek. A warning. He hasn’t hurt you, but he is in prime position to do so, and his mild tap is a reminder of that. You turn your head back towards the ceiling and he instantly feeds you his cock, driving the head past the resistance of your lips and into your waiting mouth. It stops there. Your eyes bulge. That’s enough. There _is_ no more room. It feels like you have an entire fist behind your teeth and your jaw is straining. There is some movement as he adjusts his position, and the headboard groans as he leans on it, using it as leverage. He has raised his knees off the mattress now and he is using his weight to plumb your throat, lowering himself a few inches then pausing, letting you adjust, before cramming another length into your gullet. The sensation is an exquisite blend of suffocating excitement. While it is getting very hard to breathe and your windpipe is under extreme pressure, the sensation of him entering you in this way while utterly immobilised is making your juices run hot and fast in repeated gouts.

He withdraws then and your throat makes a choking, gargling sound which, while unappealing under normal circumstances, this time only serves to send your lust into a new spike. Hot, hairy balls thud against your face and he drags them against your mouth. Excited despite your fear, you suck and lick at them as they pass. He takes advantage of that fact, laying his nuts against your extended tongue and wet lips, and rubbing them against you with abandon. He lets you take a few fast, frantic breaths, then raises his knees off the bed and hilts himself in your throat again. There’s no gradual slide this time, no easing in, just a single, forceful entry that ends with his stomach squashing your nose. You gag, throat constricting, panic rising. He does not move, holding you there as you buck and writhe under his balls, with the solid weight of him constraining you. He lets you struggle for air for a few moments longer, then with a final, vindictive push and a little rotation of his hips, he pulls out. You cough, taking a wheezing breath and swallowing to try to let your throat regain some of its function. The pressure is removed from either side of your head. You freeze, wondering what fresh hell is about to be unleashed.

After a moment’s experimentation and failure, he wrenches the cords from the posts, snapping three of the strong, slender ropes in feats of strength that leave you in awe. The last proves more difficult. With a growl of frustration and a crack of splintering wood, the last ankle is freed and he tosses the snapped post, still tied to your leg, over the side of the bed as he flips you onto your front. Your hands are loose. You scrabble for purchase, pressing your palms to the bed and attempting to rise. There may be an opportunity to make a break for it. He puts paid to that idea immediately, seizing both your wrists in one enormous fist and flattening them to the mattress above your head. Another guttural, foreign curse. Another warning. You can feel the heat from his titanic form along the entire length of your body as he holds himself aloft above you, then his other hand grasps your buttock and a thumb runs up the inside of one cheek, pulling you apart. You hear a low hum of approval then a sharp, staccato crack as his open palm lands against your rump. Your skin smarts and tingles and the sensation spreads to the crux of your thighs. You are leaking freely now and you can feel the dampness beneath your crotch on the bed.

Wet spots suddenly become the least of your concerns. He hauls your hips up to meet his, still keeping your hands pressed against the bed, and the oversized head of his meat butts repeatedly against your entrance. Any normal-sized cock would have slid straight in at this point, but even with the dripping mess between your legs, it takes some force to push it past your outer lips and you yell aloud as it stretches you wide. The intruder has some consideration at least and remains still for several seconds, but it’s never going to be long enough to get used to his size. Before you’re fully ready, he is driving the remaining length home in a single, unrelenting movement. He hits resistance but doesn’t stop there. Your eyes open wide beneath their blinding covering and his cock continues to work itself into your innards. You realise eventually that your stomach is touching the bed and you’re not sure how that is even possible, given your hips are raised off the mattress and held in place by an enormous hand. You realise what he’s done just as his hips meet yours and his balls bounce off the back of your thighs. Your mouth falls open and a tiny trickle of saliva drools out. The intensity of the pressure in your lower abdomen and through your entire womanhood is addling your brain. 

He moves then, slipping his cock all the way out with a soft sucking sound and rubbing the head against your lips. The glossy, sliding sensation enlivens your clit and makes you groan in desperate need. All you can think about is having him stuff that monster back inside you and fill you to bursting again. His hand closes about your waist, fingers and thumb meeting around your midriff as he prepares to pound you. You can barely control your breathing. You know what’s coming and you have no idea if you can take it, but it’s too late to worry now. He tightens his grip on your waist, secures your arms against the bed with his supporting hand, and rams his cock into you to the hilt. The odd sensation of your belly-skin hitting the wet cotton beneath you somehow only adds to your excitement and your nipples rub against the fabric with every bounce of your breasts as the monster goes to town on you. Your head is turned to the side and your neck strains with each forceful slam of the creature’s hips. Before that becomes too painful, he changes tack and raises you, using his grasping hand to move you along his length even as he bucks against you, making each thrust that much deeper. 

This is obviously good for him. He becomes vocal, giving voice to a series of lust-filled grunts and roars as he picks up the pace, his bucking hips striving to meet his jerking fist with only your tight, wet snatch keeping them apart. The bed is shuddering under the impact, the headboard creaking and banging ominously, and after a particularly vicious thrust, the bottom end of the bed drops sharply towards the floor with the sound of shattering hardwood. He barely breaks stride, using the new angle of the mattress - and gravity - to his advantage. You’re past caring. His cock has woken something deep inside you, a desire you have suppressed for far too long and although you hesitate to form the words, they will not be held back any longer. You try to find the breath to speak, not an easy feat with the beast using his hand to impale you forcefully onto his engorged meat. It comes in several stuttering gasps, but at last you manage to let it out, and it starts and ends with a wanton groan of need. 

“Come … inside me…”   
  
The strident marching rhythm of his hips falters. His thrusts slow. Your dripping womanhood resents you instantly. Silence reigns. You try to hush your breathing and you will him to continue. He moves slightly, a chance intake of breath betraying uncertainty as he adjusts his position and releases your hands.   
  
“I… thought I wasn’t allowed to do that.”  
  
You release a long-suffering and very frustrated sigh. So close. “Damnit Gorbash!”  
  
You lift the corner of your blindfold and scowl at him over your shoulder. The bed is a wreck, the sheets stained and crumpled, one of the bedposts has been torn off and the culprit is kneeling behind you wearing nothing but a look of apologetic confusion. Sweat beads his forehead and streams down the corded muscles of his arms and chest, setting the jade-coloured skin agleam. He is disheveled, his long, coarse brown hair escaping from its top-braid and loose strands are splayed against his cheek like a raptor’s fail-feathers. Tattoos shade his skin in mottled viridity and the long scar that runs from beneath one chunky pectoral to his navel is an angry red, as it always is when his blood is up in rage or passion.   
  
He raises his arms in a sheepish shrug. You do so adore your indulgent orc lover, but he can be an ass sometimes, usually at the worst possible moment. Your annoyance fades. He’s too damned sexy for you to stay mad at him, even if he has just shattered the erotic illusion the two of you have been planning for days.

“You _do_ know what happens if I come inside you…?” he queries, his expression just on the comical side of uncertain.

You roll your eyes at him. “You think I'd let you make all this mess for nothing?” 

You've been sure about this for some time. Ever since the two of you escaped from the fighting pit, evaded the slavers who tried to reclaim you, and set up your own little holdfast high in the Red Ridge mountains, the seed of surety has been germinating. He's the one. You don’t want to shrink from it any longer. You’re not afraid of the consequences, and there is nothing - nothing - in all the world you want more than to feel his tremendous geyser of cum unload inside you. He appears to sense your thoughts and his face regains its self-confident cast, grinning and rolling you to your back. You pull him towards you with your legs, and there is an accompanying thud as the bit of broken bedpost still tied to your ankle bounces against the frame. You hold his savage face in your hands, savouring the magnetic mix of intelligence and ferocity you find there. There is so much about his physique that drives you wild, but it is this dichotomy of passion and prepossession that has really, truly made you come undone for him. You love the way he has that one look, reserved only for you that makes you wonder whether he’s going to eat you or _eat_ you; the way his inimical growl simultaneously raises the hair on the back of your neck and causes your crotch to flood; the way those hands, rough from war and hardened from death-dealing abrade your skin and set your loins on fire. He is a creature of contrasts and he is about to prove that point yet again.

With your recent admission and confirmation, his attitude changes. Gone is the considerate lover, checking boundaries, soliciting permission, and in its place is a creature driven wholly by one potent imperative. He raises your legs so your ankles lie against his shoulders - pausing to rip the bit of smashed bedpost from its tie - and positions himself at your groin. You draw in a slow, deep breath. You’re about as ready as you can be, but in this position, he’s going to go _deep_. He gives you one more appraising look that conveys an unspoken query. You nod frantically. He enters your slick cleft in one fast, sure movement and gravity assists in sliding you down the broken bed onto his waiting cock. He takes a grip on your hips with a pressure you know is going to leave bruises and begins to fuck the living daylights of of you. He is, in some feat of coordinated muscle, ramming home with one foot up on the battered bed and the other on the floor, hammering you for all he’s worth. And he’s worth a lot. You grab his fingers to steady yourself and hold on for dear life.

You were close before, and his relentless pounding, coupled with the sensation of being overfilled quickly sends you soaring. Something starts in your belly where his outsized cock is rearranging your guts and spreads like wildfire out through your abdomen into every nerve in your body, triggering a momentary white-out in your brain. You don’t have the presence of mind to make any sound, but your mouth is open in a silent scream as ecstasy rips through your core and tears you away from reality. He follows you seconds later, arching forwards with his hips while his hands keep you jammed against him and you feel it begin: a slow pumping sensation that accompanies the regular throb of his member, each pulse stretching your inner walls. It’s on the right side of painful - just - but you realise that it’s not stopping and as he locks his hips against you, you feel his seed start to fill your belly until the pressure makes you cry out. He instantly drops his full weight onto you, pinning your legs against your chest and holding firm, effectively plugging you. He leans his forehead against yours, presses his fists against the bed beneath your buttocks and strains forwards into you. He is done, but he's not yet softening nor withdrawing. He begins to move again, tiny, shallow thrusts against your overtaxed womanhood that nonetheless excite you. You begin to judder from a series of little climaxes that bleed into each other until you’re crying out in a mindless moan, thrashing your head from side to side. Your nethers are drenched, stuffed, and plugged and your orc lover is giving you more pleasure than you ever thought possible. You feel hot and in heat; filled and sexy, delirious and excited by what you and Gorbash have just started together. Fluids ooze over your buttocks and pool beneath you, and when he finally withdraws, his seed gouts from you, soaking the broken bed. He holds his forehead against yours for a while longer as you both recover your breath.

Eventually, he throws himself down beside you and you share an incredulous grin. This was beyond what either of you had expected from tonight. He appears to note you haven’t moved from the awkward position in which he’s left you and he lifts your wrist, letting your limp arm flop back down onto the bed. You giggle at the effect his rutting has had on you, and he hauls you against his side. You flop onto his chest and grin up at his fierce face, a fearsome sight even when he’s as relaxed and sated as he is now. He returns the smile, breathless and laughing and wraps you in his tree-trunk sized arms. You lie together for a while in that wonderful contented glow, making plans and exchanging glances and touches that convey ten times more than paltry words. At length, conversation temporarily exhausted, you run your hand across his slabby chest and contoured abdomen and your eye follows your hand’s path, the treasure at the bottom igniting new desires that demand action. After all, there is a purpose to your rutting now besides mere pleasure.

You fix him with your wickedest grin.

“ _My_ turn.”

**Author's Note:**

> Damnit, I want to write this story now!


End file.
